A Connecticut Ninja in King Jimmy's Court
by GKJessenia
Summary: Joshua Kalman, American ninjitsu expert, could definitely use a job at Scotland Yard, but his first run in with the world's only consulting detective doesn't go so well. It's not until the King of Crime takes a hostage both men would die for that the two are forced to form an unlikely alliance.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is written by my sister, heavily assisted by my brilliant intellect. In other words, I can throw out a plot a minute, but I'm apparently incapable of writing it down. This one she conceived first, and then I actually stopped in the middle of a Doctor Who episode to help her refine it. If that's not love, I don't know what is.**

**Yes, there is an OC in this fic, and I know we all hate those, but as this particular OC is in no way anyone's love interest, I make an exception.**

**We don't own Sherlock, obviously, as she would have more ninjas and I would have more Lestrade hugs.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Look out!"

Startled, Mycroft Holmes looked up in time to see the motorcycle bearing down on him. The next moment he was flying across the pavement, pushed from behind. The motorcycle whizzed by, missing him by inches.

"What's that idiot doing on the sidewalk?" growled the boy who had just pushed him out of the motorcycles path. "He could have killed somebody!"

_American,_ Mycroft noted automatically, sitting up gingerly.

"He's coming back," the kid observed. "Very quickly . . . hey!"

The motorcycle bore down on them at at least sixty mph. "What is he trying to do!" the kid yelled, jumping forward.

_Kill me, apparently. _Mycroft rolled out of the motorcycle's path, but it swerved after him. Then the kid was there again, running towards the motorcycle. Just when it seemed a collision was imminent, the boy did some kind of somersault/roll, flipped over, and kicked the motorcycle with all his strength as it went by. The motorcycle swerved madly, rocketed past Mycroft, and kept going for another twenty feet or so before the driver regained control.

"Get inside!" the boy yelled, running towards Mycroft, who got quickly to his feet and started for the closest building. The roar of a motor from behind him made him turn to see the motorcycle bearing down on him again. _But it's still over there . . . there's two!_

He couldn't outrun the motorcycle. Instead, he adopted the same technique the kid had used, rolling out of the way at the last minute, but he wasn't fast enough. The motorcycle ran over his left leg near the ankle. A searing wave of pain almost made him black out, but he fought it. _Have to get my phone . . . how could this even be happening? Where are the other pedestrians? And, for that matter, the traffic in general? The street's deserted . . ._

He tried to stand, but the pain in his leg was too great. Then an arm was around his shoulders. "Hurry," the boy gasped, "I can't hold them much longer."

They had only made a few feet when the motorcycles were there again. The boy stopped supporting Mycroft, turning to the motorcycles. He fell to the ground again. "Crawl if you can!" the boy shouted, running towards the motorcycles, his hand on his side, as if to draw a gun. The motorcycles swerved away, the cyclists unsure if he was actually armed.

Mycroft really tried, but whenever he shifted his body a wave of pain went through his leg. _It'll be worse if you don't, _he told himself, but it didn't make any difference. He sent a quick text and then turned to look at the motorcycles.

The boy stood between him and the closest one, tense for action. As the motorcycle bore down, he jumped away and then back in the blink of an eye, and, grabbing the cyclist, pulled himself on to the motorcycle. The cycle veered out of control as they fought for mastery. Then the kid was in control, the cyclist sagging down in front of him.

The kid pushed the cyclist off the front of the bike. He hit the pavement with a dull thud and didn't move. The boy roared towards the other motorcycle, driving between it and Mycroft. For a moment they were on a collision course, and then the other cycle turned. He was coming back around for a second attempt when the wail of sirens pierced the air. The cyclist turned and took off down the street.

Mycroft had been so absorbed in watching the boy fight the cyclist that he had failed to notice the other cyclist coming towards him, apparently recovered from the fight. He had a long knife in his hand. Mycroft looked around frantically for something to fight with but there was nothing. The boy was running towards them, but it was obvious the cyclist would get there first.

Mycroft couldn't think of anything to do, and he didn't like the unfamiliar sensation of helplessness. The boy had stopped and turned away. _Probably doesn't want to see me gutted, _Mycroft thought, steeling himself for the blow. Then the boy turned back around, and something flew through the air. The cyclist stopped abruptly, took one more step, and then slowly crumpled to the pavement. The hilt of a small dagger protruded from his neck.

_What a throw, _Mycroft thought, looking at the boy as he ran toward him. Then, surprised, he realized something else. _That kid, he's enjoying this!_ He couldn't tell what had given him the impression, but it had definitely been there.

"Are you alright?" The boy bent over his leg.

"I think it's broken," Mycroft replied through gritted teeth.

The boy walked over to the fallen cyclist, pulled the knife out of the man's neck, and wiped the blade on the cyclist's jacket. He came back over to Mycroft. "Mind if I look at it?"

"Go ahead." Mycroft tried to pull up his trouser leg, but it hurt too badly. The boy stooped and carefully cut up one side of the trouser leg, and then around at the knee. He studied the bloodied leg and then shook his head. "I can't tell when it's like that. The police will probably be better than I am. I just know basic first aid."

"Speaking of the police, they finally got here," Mycroft observed as two police cars and an ambulance sped down the street.

"Am I going to get arrested for that?" the boy asked, nodding towards the dead cyclist.

"I hardly think so," Mycroft answered absent-mindedly.

The paramedics were there then, and a policeman took the boy away to give a statement. The paramedic confirmed that the femur was indeed broken, but the ankle was untouched. "Pretty lucky, too," the man remarked. "A few inches to the right and you'd be walking with a cane the rest of your life."

The paramedic helped Mycroft to the ambulance, then went back to look at the dead man. Mycroft pulled out his phone and started his secret service working to trace the other cyclist. He had no doubt that they would succeed.

A policeman came up to ask him some questions about the incident. It didn't take long, and then the paramedic was back to put a temporary splint on his leg. Mycroft deliberated for a moment, then turned back to his phone and sent one more text: **_I want any information you can gather on the boy that was at the scene today._**

The ambulance started up and drove away to the hospital.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Really struck gold there," the policeman said to the boy, having finished with all the formalities.

"Gold?" the boy asked, looking at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know? Kid, that was Mycroft Holmes you just saved!"

"Who's that?"

"Who's that? Kid, that's one of the most important men in the British government!"

"But what does that have to do with me . . . oh. You think he'll reward me."

"I'll bet you'd be able to live comfortably for at least a year on what he gives you," the policeman asserted.

"I didn't save his life for money."

"Of course not, but the money still comes in awful handy." The policeman winked and walked away.

"Ha," the boy muttered after him. Then his expression grew thoughtful. "Mycroft Holmes . . ." He pulled out his phone.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

JOSHUA KALMAN

AGE: 17

DISCRIPTION: Height, 5'8". Weight, roughly 140. Eyes brown, hair dark brown nearing black. No identifying tattoos or jewelry of any kind.

WORK: No steady jobs, does odd jobs when he can find them

RESIDENCE: Lives alone in 147 Sudbury Ave. Landlord says prompt with rent.

BACKGROUND: Came from America two months ago on student Visa. Illegitimate son, mother dead, father gone. Police from his area say good reputation, had a steady job. Noteworthy incident when stopped a bank robbery by assaulting the robber.

So basically, could be any other exchange student. Mycroft sighed. He had work to do; he couldn't spend a lot of time on this. The solution was simple. Give the boy some money and forget about it.

But someone had made sure that street was deserted. Someone had blocked all traffic so the motorcycles would have an open route. Yet, the boy had been there.

No one else.

It didn't make sense, unless the boy was in league with the cyclists and had arranged to fight them off, hoping to gain Mycroft's trust. That was a plausible explanation.

He'd just give the kid money and be done with him.

The surviving cyclist had been tracked down, but was unwilling to reveal any information.

It didn't really matter. Mycroft had received a text five minutes after the incident.

**Just keeping you on your toes.**

**JM**

Of course, he wasn't going to get away with it.

Actually, he probably was. It was also probably the least Mycroft would have to worry about soon.

When Jim Moriarty got bored, the world was shaken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So my sister has finally admitted to me being her muse...I consider that bribery enough to let her update. She's still claiming that the main character is in no way a portrayal of herself. That girl cracks me up.**

**Of course we don't own Sherlock, we'd have discovered some way of using fangirls to take over the world by now.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua Kalman, hero.

He'd been sick enough of that term before, when he'd stopped the burglary. Now it was worse.

He looked at the crowd of reporters waiting outside the store for him and swore inwardly. He could get away from them easily enough, but they'd be following him for the next week at least.

_Why'd the dude have to be some big important government guy? Maybe I'll change my identity and move to Scotland._ He laughed bitterly. Scotland. His one clue.

Turning, he went strode through the store towards the back door. Just as many reporters there.

Nuts.

He turned quickly, surveying the inside of the small shop. _There._ His mind switched automatically to stealth mode, and he could almost feel himself disappear. Not that he actually disappeared; you just didn't see him anymore. He never bragged about his skill at ninjitsu, but he knew he was really good.

In ninja mode now, he calmly walked over to the wall. He waited til the shopkeeper's back was turned, and then snatched a coat from the rack, and a hat. Pulling a tube of face paint from his pocket, he skillfully drew on a mustache. Slouching over, with his own coat around his waist and hips for padding, he looked like a short, overweight middle-aged man. _Ought to work._

He turned and calmly walked out the front door, right past the reporters, who didn't give him a second glance.

After rounding the corner, he pulled off the stolen items and stuffed them behind a garbage can. He didn't like stealing, but right now, publicity could ruin everything. _If he somehow recognizes my face. . ._

He. It was always just he, a mysterious word for an equally mysterious man. _This was a dumb idea, coming here. This city is huge. Unless . . . Scotland . . ._

Scotland. Just that. Nothing more. _She was delirious. Out of her mind. _He laughed ruefully. _Yet here I am, hoping against the odds._

_Because I'm a moron._

"Mr. Kalman?"

Startled, he looked up. Two large men were standing in front of him. Two very large men. "Yes?" Even as he spoke, the part of his mind that was always ready, always alert, was jumping into high gear.

"You need to come with us."

"Why?" It was fairly obvious why. Big black car, nicely dressed, obviously fairly well-to-do. Government men.

Which meant Mr. Mycroft Holmes wanted to see him. _Tough luck for him. I'm not in the best of moods right now._

The men acted as if they had not heard the question. One opened the back door for him.

"Nice meeting you." He turned and walked away.

As he'd expected, they didn't give up that easily. The car kept pace with him, while one of the men stepped forward and took his arm.

_Ninja reflexes activate! _ Joshua smiled slightly, then dropped down and to the side, pulling the man off balance. A swift kick to the leg completed the operation, and he rolled easily back up in time to duck the second man's grab.

The first man slowly stood back up, walking tenderly on his bruised leg. The second man backed off, looking at Joshua more respectfully. The man's phone rang.

Joshua contemplated melting into the shadows, but this was interesting. More interesting than sitting in his room calculating exactly how much money he had left, and exactly how much longer he could live on nothing but potatoes without dying.

"It's for you." The man was holding out the phone to him.

Joshua took the phone casually. "Hello."

"Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. Get in the car."

"Sorry, sir, I'm not in the habit of going with strangers to undisclosed locations for undisclosed reasons. Plus, I'm not in the best mood tonight, and if you want to call up twenty or so goons and try to make me, I'll be just delighted to fight them."

"If I called up twenty more men, they'd have you pinned to the ground before you could even blink."

"Prove it."

The first man jumped towards him again. He dodged, barely even looking at him. "I assume you're watching this?"

"Naturally."

"Pay close attention, then." He jumped forward, ducked, rolled, and faster than either of his assailants could believe possible was behind them. They turned to face him, but he was behind them again, then beside them, jumping in, out, rolling, ducking, never in the same place longer than a half second. He muddled them, disoriented them, and then dropped them both with swift kicks from behind. And then, he was gone.

Groaning, the men rose to their feet, looking around for their opponent, who had disappeared without a trace. They glanced at each other fearfully, then made a beeline for the car.

"And that, Mr. Holmes, is how I take care of bullies." Joshua snapped the phone shut, laughing silently as he imagined the other man's face.

He threw the phone from him. It might have a tracking device. Inching forward, he peered over the peak of the roof in time to see the car driving off. He followed, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, light as a cat and just as silent. A flash of movement, a flicker of shadow. Darkness. The hour of the ninja.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Mycroft slowly snapped his phone shut. Not bad. Not bad at all. The boy had skill. And nerve. And, apparently, brains, as he had known who had sent the car.

Of course, there was still the possibility of an elaborate plot.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"You failed." Mycroft gazed calmly at the nervous men.

"He was everywhere! We couldn't fight him!"

"You were armed."

There wasn't time," one answered dejectedly.

"Maybe you can redeem yourselves tomorrow. I'm not done with that boy." The men exchanged annoyed looks.

Mycroft turned and walked away. He'd send a martial artist with them tomorrow.

"Mr. Holmes?" one of the men called tentatively.

Mycroft turned. "What?"

"You . . . you have something on your sleeve," the man said nervously.

Mycroft looked down. A piece of yellow paper. Odd. He pulled it off.

Not just paper. A sticky note.

Six words. Pencil.

**Until the next time, Mr. Holmes.**

Mycroft stared at the note. How was that possible? He looked up. A shadow moved on the opposite side of the warehouse. A figure stepped forward. A figure dressed all in black, with a mask that covered the whole head.

A ninja.

Joshua.

The boy stared at him quietly, then stepped forward. In one fluid movement, he bowed, stepped back into the shadow, and vanished.

Mycroft was already on his phone. "Get out of here," he called to the two men, then limped out himself, talking quickly into the phone.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_That was highly enjoyable. Stupid, but highly enjoyable .Of course, sneaking past the security in Buckingham Palace is probably stupider. _

Clinging to the wall, he waited for the men and Mr. Holmes to leave.

_I estimate I have fifty seconds_. A long time, if one was a ninja.

He carefully opened the window and climbed out, a shadow in the night. He climbed quickly, reached the rooftop, and hoisted himself up.

_Forty seconds._

The nearest rooftop was about fifteen feet away. Doable.

He ran swiftly back from the edge to give himself a running start.

_Thirty seconds._

He ran forward and propelled himself into space, flying through the darkness to land on the other roof, safe. He paused to smile with satisfaction. _My ninja name is not Tamugara for nothing._

Tamugara, a ninja of old, famous for his ability to jump long distances. Joshua could jump almost twenty-five feet. An incredible distance.

_Fifteen seconds._ He ran lightly across the roof.

_Ten seconds._

And then the world erupted around him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Actual Author's Note: I don't want to say anything. I think author's notes are stupid. **

**Author's Note: Ninjas are so serious sometimes. Don't own, never will, Allons-y!**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Lights, shouting. Men running. Footsteps approaching him quickly.

_Apparently I underestimated Mr. Holmes' Emergency Response Team._ He rolled quickly into the shadows formed by the foot-high parapet along the edge of the roof and lay unmoving.

Men swarmed the roof, running towards him. _Lay still._ Their attention was not on him, it was on the other building. Where they thought he was_. Ha._

The men had lined up along the parapet, using strong flashlights to search the building he had come from. _Five seconds later and I would have been fairly well trapped. Well played, Mr. Holmes. _

_But not well enough._

Inching forward, he army crawled beyond the men, who all had their attention fixed firmly on the building he had just vacated. Once he was beyond the men, he easily climbed down the building and left the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

_I can't believe I actually did that. It was awesome. The security there is crazy!_

_But I did it!_

It had been a very good day.

He skulked down the street, since they had probably realized he wasn't in the building by now. Mr. Holmes was probably searching the city for any sign of him.

_Ninjas are never seen. At least not good ninjas._

_And I am a good ninja. _

_So why does this feel all wrong?_

He froze, pressed against a building. _Because today has been the best day since I came to England, and I don't want it to be over. So . . . I could let myself be seen and then disappear and watch them hunt for me. But that could too easily go wrong_

_I'm kidding myself. I know exactly what I want to do._

Joshua turned and headed back towards Buckingham Palace.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The boy had completely disappeared. Mycroft had been combing over the security tapes, but couldn't find even a trace.

_There was no way for him to get out. No way!_

His men had combed the building thoroughly. Three times. Joshua couldn't have hidden well enough to avoid them. The security tapes along the ground showed no one coming through the lower windows. No one had jumped from the higher ones, either.

His men had found slight tracks going up the wall towards a high window. Climbing hooks could have caused them, and he'd found that ninjas frequently used them. Shuko, or tiger claws, they were called.

Mycroft switched the screen to a different security camera. Playing through, he saw nothing at either of the windows. He switched to another camera.

There. A faint movement at the window to the far right. Nothing more than a flicker, really. But that flicker was the only lead he had. He paused the film, then started adjusting the lighting. It didn't work. The boy, if it was the boy, was so much part of the darkness that no silhouette showed.

He started the film again, but saw nothing more. The boy must have gone to the roof. There was no way off the roof. The other buildings were too far away to jump to, and the security cameras would have showed if he had swung over. The only way he could get off that building was to jump off. And then he'd have broken a leg, at least.

His attention returned to the other buildings. The closest was at least fifteen feet away. No one could jump fifteen feet straight across.

Or could they? He pulled out his phone and searched Ninjas long leap.

And there it was. Tamugara, the leaping ninja. He opened the article.

Tamugara had been known to leap distances of over thirty feet. However, he had died when, betrayed by a fellow ninja, he was captured. He cut his own leg off to escape, but later died from the wound.

The boy was definitely a fairly expert ninja. He might have jumped. Mycroft switched cameras again, and was rewarded at last by the film of a shadowy figure making its way down the building's side. The boy was visible enough climbing, but when he reached the ground it was almost as if he had melted into it. He just disappeared, and though Mycroft tried several other cameras, he could not catch so much as a flicker in the shadows.

"I think I handled that pretty well."

Mycroft froze, then slowly turned around. Joshua was leaning against the wall behind him. "I believe you wanted to talk to me," he said. "Talk away."

"Disappear."

"What?" Confusion flashed across the kid's face.

"Disappear. I want to see how you do it."

He shrugged, then stepped backward into a shadow. Everything changed. The way he moved, the way he breathed. He literally became part of the shadow. If Mycroft hadn't known he was there he wouldn't have seen him.

"Impressive."

"Thank you."

Mycroft made up his mind. The kid was too good to lose. He'd watch him for a while; put him in a place where he couldn't do much damage if he turned out wrong.

"I have a job opening for you."

"A job."

"A few actually. A person of your skills could be highly useful to the government."

Joshua smiled slightly. "Does the offer include amnesty for crashing Buckingham Palace twice?"

"Naturally. I have two different openings, both in Scotland Yard."

"Scotland Yard!"

Mycroft looked up, startled, but Joshua had suppressed whatever had caused the outburst. "Is that a problem?"

"No."

"You can report there tomorrow at eight. Ask for DI Lestrade."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Scotland Yard. Of course she was talking about Scotland Yard! Idiot, fool!_ Joshua's mind rushed back to a night, The Night.

His mother, dying. Gasping, delirious. He'd been holding her hand, sitting by her. Her fevered eyes had turned to him. "You must . . . London . . . him . . ."

"London? What do you mean?"

"London . . . promise me . . ."

"Yes, mother, but why? Why do I need to go to London?"

And then she'd said it. One word that had changed his life.

"Father . . ."

The world had spun. _Father. My father. In London_. "Where? Where do I find him?"

Her eyelids had fluttered. She'd gasped it out, one more word before she was gone. He'd just stared, unable to take it in. He'd lost a mother and gained a father in one night. He'd stood and walked from the room in a daze. But the word stayed with him.

Scotland.

And now he knew. Scotland Yard. His father was at Scotland Yard. And he was going there tomorrow.

Of course, he had no idea who his father was. His mother had always told him that his father was dead, but as he looked nothing like his mother, he suspected he resembled his father.

_A father with my face. _

_Who probably doesn't know I exist._

_I'll find him. Somehow, I'll find him._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I'm completely braindead. Onwards!**

**No, no we do not own. Or do we? Look! A banana!**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX **

**_I'm sending you a new recruit._**

**_MH_**

Lestrade looked at the message and sighed. He texted back.

**_We don't have any openings._**

The answer was immediate.

**_This one's special. Just take him around with you. Evaluate his potential._**

_Special. Brilliant. __**The last special recruit you sent me was high on cocaine. **_

**_And look how he turned out._**

**_Not helping._**

A knock sounded at the door and he put down the phone. "Come in."

Sally Donovan entered. "There's someone out here for you."

"Send him in."

It was a kid, probably around eighteen. Obviously nervous, dressed fairly nicely. He appeared to have gone to some trouble to comb his hair, but it still stubbornly stuck out in places.

"Mycroft sent you?"

"Yes."

"Okay…you're mainly going to be with me. I'll take you around; show you the ropes... Do you have any experience in this field?"

"Not really."

Lestrade's phone rang. He picked it up, talked briefly, then hung up. "Murder by the river. Our division. Let's go."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_I don't really see the point in my being here. _Lestrade and a bunch of other people were running around talking technical gibberish and looking for clues. _I don't know how to do any of this. _

_Of course, they're missing the blatantly obvious things. Not everybody has ninja eyesight._ The policemen were mainly concerned about identifying the body. They weren't chasing the killer. Joshua felt himself slipping into ninja mode.

_I'm supposed to stay here. I'm supposed to watch Lestrade. _

Lestrade was being less than fascinating.

_Okay, I give in. _He walked calmly away from the men, ducked under the caution tape surrounding the area, and went into a nearby café.

"I'd like a hot coffee please." The waitress was young, fluttery, and inclined to chat. Perfect. "Pretty horrible, that murder."

"Oh, yes! And here I am, working so close. It's enough to make me die of fright. You know, I could have seen the murderer; I might even have served him! And I was telling Martha all about it. She's so disinterested. Really, people these days have no proper sense of caution . . ."

"So you might actually have seen him? That's very important. Has anyone talked to you about it?"

"A police officer came, but he didn't ask me what I thought, and it's really a pity, because I have some good ideas! It could have been that ugly gent that was in here this morning, all bewhiskered and scruffy-looking, or maybe the quiet woman, I thought she looked suspicious-"

Joshua broke in. "You probably know a lot more than anyone thinks about that murder. I can tell you're observant. Those policemen are fools not to talk to you."

That got her blushing. "Well, I do think I could be a lot of help . . . there was this one man . . ."

Joshua let her ramble, carefully storing away the information in his mind. Most of it was rubbish, of course, but there were a few interesting points. One man especially got his attention. When the waitress finally showed signs of stopping, he smiled and said, "You're very observant. I bet you'll get promoted pretty fast."

She blushed again and was talking nonsense as he left.

_The price I pay for information._

Now he had a few ideas. He went back to the scene.

"Where've you been?" Lestrade asked.

"Just getting a cup of coffee. Waitress wanted to chat."

That satisfied Lestrade. _He seems to be a good man, no ninja, but more observant than most. _Joshua stood back and looked at the area, really looked at it. And then it clicked.

_The man the waitress talked about. This is him. The victim._

_And she said he had a friend with him. _

_Interesting._

He turned and headed back towards the diner.

"Blimey…and where're you off too now?" Lestrade called.

"Forgot to get my change from the waitress," Joshua called back. "I'll only be a minute."

The waitress was delighted to see him again. She'd thought of at least fifteen more "suspicious" occasions that morning. Joshua heard her out, then asked her casually about the man's friend.

Her eyes grew wide. "Was it him? I knew it! He always did look shady to me-"

"Actually, I just think I know him from work," Joshua interrupted.

"Oh." She looked highly disappointed. "Well, he was tall, and had blond hair, and a mustache I think. He doesn't come in very often."

Joshua nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like him. You didn't get his name, did you?"

"I did," the girl replied proudly. "Tom Hitton, it was."

Joshua laughed. "It was him! I'll have to tell him, he'll laugh. Thanks a lot."

He left the store and headed away from the crime scene, utilizing his ninja abilities to remain unseen.

_Tom Hitton. Well, Mr. Hitton, you're going down now. Of course, it might not have been him, but it seems most likely._

Spotting a nearby phone booth, Joshua entered and examined the phonebook. T. Hitton. There were three.

_Naturally. I'll just go in order._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_I hate poodles. _

Teresa Hitton's small dogs had been overjoyed to see him, much to his disgust. However, that was one suspect definitely eliminated.

Timothy Hitton had also been eliminated. He was a short, balding insurance agent. Joshua had barely escaped being forced to flee in public to get away from the man.

One left. This must be it.

He was standing on a fairly deserted street in front of a ramshackle brown house. He walked up to the door and knocked loudly.

After a few moments, the door was opened by an elderly man. "Does Mr. Thomas Hitton live here?" he asked.

The man shook his head. "No, lad, only me. I'm Terence Hitton."

"Oh, I must have the wrong address. Sorry to have bothered you."

The man closed the door. Joshua walked slowly down the street.

_No Thomas Hitton in London. So it was a false name, or the waitress got it wrong. _

_Either way, I'd better head back. Lestrade's probably going to be in a lovely mood. I told him I'd be gone a minute and I've been gone almost an hour._

_Maybe they already found the murderer. After all, they're trained for this. I'm just guessing. _

He headed back towards the crime scene.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"What do you mean, unnatural?" Lestrade asked.

"Suspicious," the waitress replied, shrugging. "Asking me all sorts of questions. He looked scared. And he asked me about the London bus schedules. Kept glancing towards the police line. They say a murderer always comes back to the scene. I think it was him!"

"Thank you." Lestrade walked slowly out of the café. The waitress had been thrilled to see a police officer, and started spilling theories left and right. Lestrade had finally gotten around to why he was there-looking for Joshua. Yes, the waitress had seen him. He'd been acting unnatural.

_Why would he be looking at London bus schedules? He told me he was getting change. He couldn't be the murderer. He was with me when I got the call._

_But there was time for him to get from there to the Yard before the body was discovered . . . _

The waitress had said he went towards London Bridge. Lestrade headed towards it.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The body had been removed from the crime scene, and only a few policemen lingered. Lestrade's car was still there, but Joshua didn't see him among them.

_Maybe he's waiting in the café._

Joshua entered. The waitress was still there. There were no customers. "Did a policeman come in here asking -" he broke off. The waitress had fled behind the counter and was clutching a large kitchen knife. "What're you doing?"

"Get out of here, you murderer!" she cried, stepping towards him and brandishing the knife.

"Murderer? I'm not the murderer!"

"The police think you are. They're looking for you. Stay back!" She jumped away from him again.

"I'm not trying to do anything to you!" He tried to sort through his thought processes. _Why in the world would they think I did that?_

The waitress advanced again. Joshua stepped back, away from the flailing knife. "Why do they think I'm the murderer?"

"Ask them," she replied. "Now get out of this café!"

Obediently, Joshua went toward the door. Then he stopped. "One question. Did you go out and talk to those policemen?"

"Of course not! I wasn't going near that nasty body! I haven't been down there all day."

Joshua looked her in the eyes and spoke slowly. "Then how'd you get river mud on your shoe?"

She stared at him. "I-I-"

"You were down there earlier. Why?"

Hatred, anger, and fear played across her face.

And then he knew. "It was you . . ."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Good news: The story is completely plotted out. Bad news: We now have very little to talk about. Which is very sad. We'll just have to come up with a sequel.**

**Don't own.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

She lunged. He stumbled backwards, dodging her thrusts, but her rage and fear propelled her faster than him. He dropped and rolled, coming up behind her, desperately trying to draw his own knife. She leaped onto him, driving him backwards with her body weight. He twisted away, rolled back onto his feet.

_She's crazy, _he realized. He'd finally managed to draw his knife. She was coming at him again swinging the knife in front of her. He parried her blows, trying to duck under her knife. Grabbing her wrist, he tried to twist the knife from her. _._

And then she tripped him, throwing him to the ground again. He fell on his back and she didn't hesitate for a moment, just drove her knife down. He barely dodged the downward thrust, grabbing her arm and pulling her down. She fell and did not rise. A dark pool of blood spread across the floor.

_She fell on her knife? No, her knife's in her hand._

_Oh._

_She fell on my knife. I must have dropped it when I dodged her last thrust._

_Great._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Where've you been!?"

"Me? Um . . . looking for . . . footprints. They're very dangerous, those footprints. And sneaky. Hard to find. I was tracking one to the other side of town. It was always just a step ahead of me, and-"

"All right. I get it."

_Footprints. Very clever._

"We found the murderer." Lestrade watched Joshua carefully.

"Great."

"It was the waitress. She was found dead in the café by a customer. She apparently died fighting someone. There's a knife on the scene that doesn't belong to the girl or the café."

"So someone murdered the murderer. Speaking of that, how do you know she was the murderer?"

"She had another knife in her apron that matched the wounds on the dead man. Dried blood on it, DNA testing showed it was the victim's."

"It could've been planted."

"There was also a letter in her apron, a confession basically. She was going to send it to the paper anonymously after she fled the city. Handwriting on the letter is definitely hers."

"That rather clinches it then."

"Yes. Except for whoever killed her."

"Maybe she killed herself."

"That doesn't make sense. Anyway, the knife isn't hers."

"Any chance you'll find who did it?"

"Only one. That it was you."

A long pause. They looked at each other steadily. Then Joshua smiled.

"Okay, it was. Is there any chance I could get my knife back? It was my best one."

"Was it self-defense?"

"I found her out, and she attacked me. I was using my knife to block hers, and then I dropped it. She fell on it."

"All right…" Lestrade shook his head.

"Oh, and sorry I ran off before."

"…I can't say I'm not used to it."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Well, that was almost as exciting as yesterday._

Lestrade hadn't been able to get his knife back yet, as it was undergoing a lot of weird tests.

_I ought to have it back by the end of the week though. I'll just wear my other one till then._

To celebrate two exciting days in a row, he'd awarded himself an extra potato for dinner. It had been just thrilling.

_I AM SO SICK OF POTATOES._

_And I never thought I would be._

_I wonder if Lestrade told Mycroft what happened. He's probably regretting that he ever set eyes on me. _

He rolled over and tried to go to sleep. No luck there.

_I didn't find anything about my father. It would be nice if he was Lestrade, but there's no chance of that. We look nothing alike. _

_I could read through the files on officers, but it's probably not allowed. And we'll be busy._

_Or . . ._

_I could break multiple laws and get in huge trouble._

_Again._

_Sounds good._

_I'm in. _

_And I have absolutely no idea where to go now._

He'd simply walked through the door at Scotland Yard, flashing the pass he'd gotten from Mycroft.

Now he crept down a random hallway, keeping an eye out for people. No one. He tried a doorknob. Locked. _No problem there. _He drew a long metal pin from his pocket and noiselessly picked the lock.

_A storage room. _He searched it quickly, but it had nothing of interest. He relocked the door and moved on.

Two hours, later, he still had no results. He'd seen a few people, but he'd just walked by unconcerned as if he had every right to be there, and they'd left him alone. It was almost two in the morning.

_I should probably go . . . one more hour. _

And then he found what he'd come for. A file of current officers at Scotland Yard.

With pictures.

_Score!_

He took the file and slipped into an unoccupied office. He flipped through pages, scanning quickly. He didn't have much time left. _No, no, no . . . none of these look anything like me! _

_Maybe she didn't mean Scotland Yard after all._

He started to put back the files and then froze. Behind where he had taken them from was another.

He snatched it quickly and started flipping through. _John Hackett, deceased . . . Thomas West, deceased . . . these are all dead people._

_No. No. It can't be._

But it was. Richard Fox, deceased, July 12, 2010. And the face looking back at him was his own.

He threw the file from him as hard as he could. _I never saw him, never even knew his name. And now he's dead. Dead before my mother was, before I ever came here._

He turned and fled from the room.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Very sad. And short. But the next update will come faster, maybe even tomorrow night. And as always, we'd love to know what you thought of it.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So college started and [insert lengthy excuse here]. Don't own, but does anyone else want to kill Moffat after the Emmy comments? I swear, if they kill someone...**

**Don't own. Imagine that. Allonsy!**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Lestrade entered his office, ready for the day's work. He went to the computer to check his mail, noticing on the way that someone had knocked some papers onto the floor. He picked them up and started to throw them out, but frowned and looked more closely.

_What is this file doing in here?I don't remember needing it. _

A knock sounded, and Joshua entered. He looked like he hadn't slept much. Not surprising, considering all the excitement yesterday.

"What do we do today?" Joshua's voice was flat, unexcited.

"Don't know yet," Lestrade answered absently, laying the file down on his desk. Joshua didn't seem to have heard. He was staring out the window. Lestrade frowned. "Something wrong?"

Joshua's attention snapped back. "Oh. No, I'm fine."

_He's a bad liar._

Lestrade took out Joshua's knife and passed it across the desk. "They're done with this."

"Good, I've been missing it." He took the knife and returned it to its sheath on his belt.

Sally Donovan stepped in. "The freak's here for you."

"The freak?" Joshua looked puzzled.

Lestrade didn't have time to reply before Sherlock walked into the room.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"You here for the test results?" Lestrade asked, standing up.

"Yes. And anything else you can give me."

"If I had anything, I'd text you." Lestrade walked out of the room. Sherlock gave Joshua an appraising glance. Joshua gave it right back.

_Thinks a lot of himself, _Joshua noted. _Got aconceited air._

Sherlock turned away and started looking through the papers on Lestrade's desk. Joshua stared out the window and waited for Lestrade to come back.

"Richard Fox."

Joshua's head snapped around. "What?"

"He was no great loss to the police force."

Joshua stared at Sherlock. _He's smirking. He thinks it's funny._

Then he snapped.

_Don't think. Just do._

His was on Sherlock in an instant, his fist slamming against Sherlock's face with all the power he could muster. Sherlock staggered backwards, a surprised look on his face. Joshua swung again, but Sherlock was ready this time and counterattacked, sending Joshua reeling against the wall. He came off the wall like a coiled spring, slamming into Sherlock and knocking them both to the ground.

Sherlock had the advantage, being bigger, but Joshua was angrier than he'd ever been in his life and fought like a demon. Sherlock managed to throw the enraged ninja off of him, but Joshua tripped him as he tried to get to his feet.

Joshua sprang forward again, fists ready, but Sherlock wasn't looking at him anymore. He was frozen, looking at the door. Joshua turned and saw Lestrade staring at them, a cup of coffee in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.

Joshua stepped back, and Sherlock got up. They were both panting. There was a large bruise forming on Sherlock's cheek, and Joshua's nose was bleeding profusely. No one said anything for a long moment. Sherlock shuffled. Joshua tried to decide whom to glare at. Then Lestrade broke the silence. "You'd better go take care of your nose."

Joshua turned and left the room, still fuming. _Why'd Lestrade have to come in then . . . I'm not done with Sherlock!_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"What happened there?" Lestrade asked when Joshua had gone.

"Richard Fox," Sherlock growled, still staring after Joshua.

"Richard Fox? But he's dead."

"You really don't see it." Sherlock looked at him pityingly. "Is he going to be around a lot?"

"Don't know. Mycroft sent him."

"He really knows how to pick them."

"He's not a bad kid."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_At last._

Joshua's nose had finally stopped bleeding after almost ten minutes. _He packs a pretty good wallop. I wonder if it's broken._

He walked slowly down the hallway back towards Lestrade's office. Maybe Sherlock would be gone.

_No such luck._ He was still sitting by the desk, looking at the papers Lestrade had brought him. He almost smiled when Sherlock turned his head and he saw the bruise on his face. _That was some punch. I want to do it again._

_Not now. Behave. Lestrade's watching._

He forced himself to walk casually and pointedly ignored Sherlock. "Anything yet?" He looked at Lestrade.

"Yes, just got an email. Man shot in an abandoned warehouse. No sign of the killer." He looked at Sherlock. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes." Sherlock stood up briskly. He smiled at Joshua. "Of course, you don't need to come. We don't want to agitate your nose, do we?"

Joshua smiled back. "I'll suffer through it. Your concern is touching."

"Boys . . ." Lestrade sighed. "You can both come. But please, no more fistfights."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Awfully quiet for a crime scene . . ._ Joshua tensed. Something wasn't right. "Where is everybody?"

"Don't know." Lestrade looked puzzled. "The forensics team should definitely be here."

"Something's wrong." Sherlock was tense, ready for action.

_What an astute observation. As if we couldn't see that already._

Sherlock walked into the building. Lestrade and Joshua followed cautiously. The place really was deserted. "Could we be in the wrong place?" Joshua asked.

"No…that's not it…" Sherlock pounced on an object that had been lying on the floor. A man's watch, the face shattered.

"That's my old watch." Lestrade looked astonished. "What's it doing here?"

"I would imagine it's a message." Sherlock handed the watch to Lestrade and bent to examine the ground where it had been.

"A message? Who leaves a message in an abandoned building?"

"Eight possible suspects, currently."

"It's ticking," Lestrade said.

"Don't be absurd. It's broken."

"It's ticking, Sherlock," Lestrade repeated, turning it over.

Sherlock stood up. "Let me see." He examined the watch carefully. "It isn't ticking . . . oh. Oh! Get out of here! Now!"

He grabbed Lestrade's arm and pushed him towards the door. Lestrade resisted. "Sherlock, what're you-"

"A bomb, obvious, get OUT!" He ran towards the door, pulling Lestrade with him.

_Of course, it wasn't the watch ticking, it's a bomb! _Joshua ran after them. His nose started bleeding again. He slowed, trying to stop it. The ticking had increased its pace.

Sherlock and Lestrade were nearly at the door. Lestrade turned, trying to pull away from Sherlock. "Joshua!"

"I'll be fine, go!" He started running again.

Sherlock pulled Lestrade through the door.

_I'm too far away. I'm not going to make it to the door. I'm going to die._

_Not without a fight._

There was a window, closer than the door. Joshua made for it and jumped up on the edge of a windowsill, throwing his weight against the glass. It shuddered but remained intact. The ticking was almost a steady buzz now.

Joshua whipped out his knife, smashing it against the glass as hard as he could, and the glass finally shattered. He leaped up onto the sill and out just as a huge explosion shook the building, the force of it throwing him almost fifteen feet. He landed hard, rolling to absorb the blow.

_I'm going to be too sore to move tomorrow. _

He stood up. His head throbbed, and he nearly fell over. Then Lestrade was there, holding him up. "Joshua! Are you all right?"

"No, not really . . ." the world was swimming, turning.

And then, it was gone.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**And Sherlock's on the scene...in character? OOC? Questions? Comments? Compliments? C'mon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua was first aware of the fact that his leg itched. Really bad. He moved to scratch it, then fell back. His head felt as if it were on fire. Moving it gingerly, he nearly passed out as a wave of pain washed over him.

_Oh man . . ._

_What happened? I can't remember . . . and my leg still itches._

_I hit my head. _

_How did I hit my head?_

_I hit it on the ground after flying out of a building. _The memory came rushing back. _Lestrade and Sherlock must've gotten out; they were there after the explosion. Good._

He opened his eyes. The light brought back his headache full force. Wincing, he leaned forward and scratched his leg, looking around as he did. He was in a car, stretched out along the backseat. He couldn't see the driver, but it was probably Lestrade. Sherlock wasn't there.

Joshua struggled to a sitting position. _Mild concussion, I'd bet. Could've been worse. _He moved his arms and legs. Nothing broken. His left arm was sore, but probably just bruised.

He lay back, exhausted from the effort. He tried to hold his head still, but it was hard in a moving vehicle. Every bump made him bite his lip.

The car finally stopped. He sat up again. It was easier this time.

He heard the driver's door open and close, and then Lestrade opened the back door. "You're awake?"

"I've got a thick skull." He climbed out on unsteady legs, clinging to the car until he found his balance. "What happened back there?"

"The whole building was wired. When it blew, we saw you come flying out the window. Thought you'd be dead."

"It takes more than a bomb to incapacitate me. Where'd Sherlock go?"

"He took off."

_Can't say I'm sorry about that._

"Can you walk?"

"I think so."

He managed to make it across the parking lot with no help from Lestrade. _We're at a hospital. _

_Of course we're at a hospital. I have a probable concussion._

_I hate hospitals._

_The things we suffer for the sake of duty._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Moderate concussion….are you staying with anyone?"

"Nn," Joshua replied in the negative while focusing on the cracks in the cement between his own still slightly uncooperative feet and Lestrade's car.

"Guess you'll be bunking with me, then." Lestrade unlocked the car and Joshua had already gotten in before Lestrade's statement registered.

"What? Why? Oh….keeping an eye on me?" He cursed his slow mind. Ninjas did not think slowly.

"Yeah. The couch is comfortable enough. You wouldn't be the first to crash there." Lestrade stared at the steering wheel for a moment before starting the vehicle. "Need to stop by your place for anything?"

Joshua absentmindedly gave Lestrade directions to his flat while his brain processed Lestrade's statement. "…Sherlock?"

"Yeah." The inspector gave him a sidelong glance. "He still does, occasionally. Picks the lock, waltzes into the living room, flops down on the sofa, and tells me to shut up. Usually when John's away."

"Oh." Joshua stared out the window for a bit. "John?"

"His flatmate. He'd never admit it, but even the genius gets lonely occasionally." Lestrade braked to avoid a reckless cabdriver and cleared his throat. "There's a file. In the glovebox." It took Joshua a moment to realize that Lestrade wished him to get it out. This concussion business sucked. He pulled out the file and froze.

"Richard Fox." Lestrade pulled up in front of the flat and parked. "Richard was in the drugs division. Quiet bloke, you take after him. He did good work. He died on an undercover mission…four years ago now." Londoner and Yankee sat in silence for a minute.

"So he died in the line of duty."

"Yes."

Joshua nodded, swallowed, and got out of the car. "Do you want to come up? It's nothing much." Lestrade shrugged and followed him up the stairs.

Joshua pushed open the door and entered. "I'll just be a minute." He walked into the bedroom, grabbed a few clothes, and then, after a moment of deliberation, took out his _gi, _his ninja uniform. _Because you never know. _

He picked up a few more things and walked to the kitchen to get a bag. Lestrade was staring into a cupboard. "Potatoes?"

"Oh. I've been surviving on those."

Lestrade closed the cupboard. "Want to have a burger with me?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"How'd you figure it out about . . . my dad?"

"The file was on my desk and Sherlock mentioned his name. I looked him up while you were stopping your nosebleed. Chips?"

"NO POTATOES." They got their burgers and sat down at a table.

"You came here looking for him."

"Yes . . . I thought he was dead most of my life. And he is. But still . . . I'm not sorry I hit Sherlock. I'd do it again in an instant." _Plan to, in fact. But he doesn't need to know that . . ._

"He's…a bit hard to get along with. Trust me, I've been looking after him for seven years now."

"Sounds rough."

"Not as bad as you'd imagine. He's…a great man. I'm proud of him." Lestrade stared at his coffee a moment in silence. Joshua shifted uncomfortably and looked for a way to change the subject.

"Um…do you have any kids?" Lestrade grimaced in response.

"No…can't say it was my choice, though. My wife isn't a huge fan of kids." He chuckled humorlessly. "She certainly wasn't a fan of Sherlock. He's the closest I've gotten. And now he doesn't even really care." _So much for changing the subject. _Lestrade appeared to be in a somewhat gloomy mood. Joshua shifted again and yawned deliberately. Lestrade immediately ceased the staring match with his coffee and raised his hand for the check.

"Best get you home. Sleep's the best thing for that headache. Oh, one more thing . . . there was a watch your dad wore all the time . . . didn't know if you'd want it, but I brought it with me." He handed a watch across the table to Joshua. "It's broken."

"That doesn't matter. Thank you."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The sofa was comfortable enough, but Joshua couldn't sleep. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then remembered it was broken. _It's stupid to wear an old broken watch just because it belonged to my father. _He took it off and looked at it more closely. _Maybe I could get it fixed . . . hey, there's an engraving on the back._

**_What's past is prologue. _**

**_W. S._**

_W. S. . . . William Shakespeare, maybe?_ He got up and went over to a bookcase. _Hey, he has some Shakespeare._ He pulled the book out and opened it to a random page.

**_Full fathoms five thy father lies_**

**_Of his boned are coral made_**

**_Those are pearls that were his eyes_**

**_Nothing of him doth remain_**

**_But doth suffer a sea-change_**

**_Into something rich and strange_**

**_Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell_**

**_Hark! I hear them, ding dong bell._**

_Okay, that is strange. I just remembered why I don't read Shakespeare. _

He stuck the book back, shoving impatiently when it didn't fit in quickly. _Rats. Something must be jammed. _He took the book back out and reached into the back of the bookcase. There were a bunch of papers crammed back there. _Odd. _He pulled them out.

_Another police file. On . . . Sherlock Holmes. Holmes? That was the government guy's name too. Maybe they're related. This ought to be interesting. _

He settled down on the couch for a long read.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua woke up the next morning with a cramp in his neck. He'd fallen asleep reading the file on Sherlock. It wasn't high quality reading material, but it was still pretty interesting. _Hey, my headache's gone!_

He got up and went into the kitchen. Lestrade wasn't there. _No wonder, it's already nine thirty. He probably didn't want to wake me and went on to the office. _

He took time to eat a quick breakfast and then got dressed. _I could probably claim a sick day on my concussion, but I feel normal and it's boring just sitting here. I'll have to walk to Scotland Yard; I don't have cab fare. _

He walked out the door and stopped. Lestrade's car was parked in front of the house. _He's not gone yet? Then where was he?_

He turned and went back into the house. "Lestrade?"

No answer. He started searching the house. No breakfast dishes other than his, Lestrade's bed hadn't been slept in, or at least had been made, his toothbrush was dry, and his shoes weren't by the door.

_It looks almost like he hasn't been here all night._

_Like he never came back. _A knot of panic started to form inside him. _Something happened last night. Why else would he not come back?"_

He tried to rationalize the fear away. _It's a nice day; he might have walked to the Yard._

_But it's practically on the other side of London._

_There has to be an explanation for this. _

The front door opened. He practically ran to it, then stopped mid-stride.

Sherlock Holmes.

_The one person I really, really didn't need to see right now._

Sherlock pushed his way past Joshua into the house. "Where's Lestrade?"

"I don't know. He's not here."

"No!" Sherlock pushed past him into the kitchen, searching frantically.

"Sherlock, he's not here! What are you doing?"

"The watch in the building! Oh, I've been too slow! He's taken Lestrade!"

"Who took Lestrade? What's going on?"

"Moriarty, shut up, I need to think!"

_Moriarty? Jim Moriarty, the one it talked about in the file?_

_The one who blew people up?_

"Sherlock, how-"

"Shut UP!"

"I care about him too!" Joshua's fist connected solidly with Sherlock's chin, knocking him against the counter. Sherlock recovered instantly and swung at him. Joshua ducked, tripped on his own foot, and fell over. _Stupid concussion._ Sherlock over-swung and staggered off balance, toppling to the floor as he tripped over Joshua.

"We have got to stop doing that," Sherlock groaned.

"Well maybe if you weren't such a blasted idiot-"

"I'm going to find Lestrade. By myself. So just leave me alone."

"We'll work faster together."

"I don't want your assistance!" Sherlock turned and stormed from the house.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Now, we're currently having a little debate on whether you get to know anything about Sherlock's file, so...care to weigh in?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: This is a seriously random story, now that I think about it. Most of ours are. But I like it. So there. Give me coffee.**

**Don't own.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**_I need you._**

**_SH_**

**_Sherlock, I'm on holiday!_**

**_JW_**

**_Moriarty._**

**_I'll be there._**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"The copper? Yeah, he was here. Comes most every night."

"Was he acting unusual? Did he leave with somebody?"

"He left by himself at the same time as he always does. Seemed normal to me. Why're you interested?"

"He owes me money. Will he be back tonight?"

"Probably."

"Thanks." Joshua left quickly. Sherlock hadn't been there before him. _Odd, that seems like the logical first place to go. _

He retraced the route Lestrade would have taken, but too many people walked the streets of London and any clues had disappeared in the morning's rush hour.

_I have no leads. I wonder if Sherlock's doing better. Probably, he is a genius despite being a moron._

_Lestrade could be dead already . . ._

_Mycroft. Why didn't I think of that before? He's got access to all the security cameras in London!_

Joshua turned and sprinted down the road.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_It's going to be way harder to sneak in here during the daytime. At least Buckingham Palace isn't a military compound. Those are intense._

_Luckily, ninjas are always prepared._

He went to the same route he had used before. Mycroft hadn't discovered how he'd gotten in before, so he still had an unguarded path. _This isn't the hard part. Hacking his computer is going to be the hard part. I hope he's not here. I don't have time to waste._

He had no intention of telling Mycroft anything about the situation.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Nuts, he's there! Now I have to wait._

Joshua could hang from the windowsill indefinitely thanks to his ninja endurance training, but somebody would spot him sooner or later.

_Maybe I won't have to hack, though. That could save a lot of time. My hacking skills are less than incredible. And by less than incredible I mean nonexistent._

He'd been hanging for about ten minutes when Mycroft got up and left.

_Now. _He raised the window with one hand and wormed through. Checking the computer quickly, he found it still active. _Awesome. But he could be back any minute . . ._

_This was not well thought out. I've got no idea when he could be back._

_Better hurry then. _

He reached towards the computer, then stopped as he heard footsteps. _Already?_

There was only one pace to hide.

Under the desk.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

An hour later he was still there. Mycroft showed no signs of leaving anytime soon.

_I'm incredibly lucky that he didn't see me when he sat down. And I'd rather be here than hanging onto the window. But still, it's rather nerve-wracking. _Mycroft's feet were literally three inches away from his face.

_If he shoves his foot forward I'm going to have a bloody nose. Again._

_At least he might not recognize me with blood all over my face._

Just then Mycroft shifted his feet, stretching a bit. The cast on his left foot touched Joshua's chin lightly. _Great. I can hardly breathe now or I'll jostle it. _

_This is definitely a worthy test of my ninja skills. _

_He'll have to leave for lunch. That ought to be in less than an hour. _He groaned inwardly.

_I bet Sherlock's never done this. _

He lay frozen for what seemed like hours before Mycroft finally got up, stretched, and left. _He ought to be gone at least ten minutes. I should have time. _

He rolled out from under the desk and jumped to his feet, reaching toward the computer. Then he stopped, dismayed. _He turned it off! Now I have to hack it!_

_I have absolutely no idea what his password might be. _He tried a few patriotic combinations and Sherlock's name since they might be related. Nothing.

_I wasted all this time and have nothing to show for it. _He glanced at the clock. Mycroft could be back any minute. _Abort mission. This was a bad idea._

He climbed onto the windowsill and started down the wall.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, he looked back into the room. Mycroft was standing in the doorway with a donut in his hand. Without a moment's hesitation, Joshua twisted around and launched himself into the air. He landed smoothly and ran for cover. _If he recognized me . . . _

Mycroft was leaning out the window, yelling instructions into his phone. Joshua could see guards running towards him.

_If ever I needed skill, it's now. _He bolted away from the guards, running as if his life depended on it. _There's too many of them, I can't make it . . ._

He was approaching a building. He made for a tree close by, grabbed a branch, and swung himself feet first through the window, the glass shattering into tiny pieces. He rolled onto his feet, thankful that the room was unoccupied. _It won't be for long, though. . ._

He ran out the door, bounding up a flight of stairs. _If I can reach the roof I have a chance. They might look downstairs for me first . . ._

He reached the top floor. _There's no way to the roof but the windows, which means I have to show myself. _He swung himself out the window, but in his hurry he slipped. He grabbed desperately for the sill, managing to catch hold of it with two fingers. He pulled himself back up towards the roof. _That was too close. I have got to slow down._

_I can't slow down._

He swung himself onto the roof and lay flat against it. There were a few buildings he could jump to, but there were probably men there waiting for him. _The only way out of here is to fly. Or . . . _

He turned and jumped off the building.

_I've only got one chance . . . _His hands shot out, grabbing a windowsill on the second floor. His body slammed against the wall, almost making him lose his grip. _Ow. _He managed to pull himself up, pry the window open, and clamber through. _Have to be fast. They were expecting me on the roof. Maybe I surprised them enough to get away._

He sped down the hallway, ducked into a random room, and flattened himself against the wall. Peering out the window cautiously, he could see men converging on the building. _I could go back up . . . they'd never expect that. _He shook his head. _They'd still be ready._

The men got closer. He tensed for action. _I have to get this right . . ._ Footsteps were pounding up the stairs. As the door burst open, Joshua leapt out the window yet again. _Not a long drop this time. _He rolled to his feet and charged straight for the advancing guards, dodging one and knocking another head over heels.

"Shoot to wound!" someone yelled.

_Shoot?_

He threw himself to the ground, rolling and twisting in a completely unpredictable series of moves, springing and rolling forward and sideways. _They can't shoot for fear of killing me. They'd probably miss anyway._ He was almost out, and the guards were all behind him.

He rounded the last corner and ran into the barrel of a rifle.

_Okay, maybe not all the guards._

_Rats._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The guard had handcuffed Joshua to a chair before leaving, and the ninja didn't look happy about it. _He'll have to get used to handcuffs if he spends a lot of time breaking into places._

"Care to explain why you were breaking into my office?"

"I was breaking out of your office, actually. If you'd been five seconds later you'd never have known I was there."

Mycroft sighed. "Where's Lestrade?" _He was supposed to be keeping an eye on him._

"At the Yard. I took the day off because I had a concussion yesterday."

"You don't seem much affected. Have you met Sherlock Holmes yet?"

"Yes. I assume you're related."

"Brothers."

"You don't seem much alike."

"We're not. Since you're here, I have an assignment for you."

"I thought I was assigned to work with Lestrade."

"This is more important. I need you to follow Sherlock, make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I have a tracking device on him, but I feel more surveillance may be needed after the bomb yesterday."

"We don't get along."

"I've seen." He'd actually spit tea all over the screen he'd been watching. "You're a ninja. He shouldn't know you're there."

"Why me?"

"You're the only ninja I currently have at my disposal."

"I'm not at your disposal."

"Of course, if you'd rather do jail time for this . . ."

"How long do I have to watch him?"

"I don't know yet." Mycroft picked up his phone. "He's at . . ." He clicked on the tracking app. "He's at his flat. 221B Baker Street." He reached down into his desk drawer for a pencil. When he looked back up, Joshua was gone.

Mycroft stared at the chair where he'd been. The handcuffs lay on the seat, along with a dismantled pen.

_He just picked unpickable handcuffs._

_With the spring from a pen._

_And_ _where's my phone?_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I'm an extremely random person. That said, my favorite Avenger is Iron Man. My favorite character is Loki. And the subtitle of the parental version of this story is "Whack Me a Moose." For which we provide no explanation whatsoever. And that was her, not me. **

**Sister's Note: Friends, Romans, countrymen...whack me a moose! **

**And no, I didn't give her coffee.**

**I own my own imagination. But not a car. As of yet. I'm hoping that changes in a couple hours. I also do not own Sherlock. There is very little hope of that changing in the foreseeable future. **

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_He's going to be so mad . . ._

Joshua hadn't needed to hack, as the phone was still active, so he had simply disabled the passcode.

He grinned in spite of himself and shoved the phone back in his pocket. _He'll be scouring the city for me . . . good thing I know how to avoid the security cameras._

_Well, today I've broken into Buckingham Palace, stolen the phone of a top government official, and jumped off a five story building and survived. And I still have no idea where Lestrade is._

He'd have to find Sherlock. _But I'm not keeping an eye on him. Mycroft has the entire secret service at his disposal. He can find somebody else._

The tracking device on Sherlock was directly connected to Mycroft's phone._ Since I have it, he doesn't know where Sherlock is anymore. Good, I don't want him watching us all the time._

He wouldn't have been able to explain why he didn't want Mycroft involved, but something in him shied away from the idea every time.

_I'll have to go over the rooftops to avoid being seen. More difficult in daytime, but still doable. _

The phone rang. _Great._ _Either it'll be Mycroft blowing up at me or some government official who'll just get us both really confused._

_I don't have time to worry about Mycroft. He'd probably trace the call anyway, and then I'd be in a world of hurt._ He rejected the call and set off across London. The phone rang again. He rejected it. It rang again.

_He can call me all day. I'm not picking up. _He rejected the call and turned off the phone. _The last thing a ninja needs is an alarm that goes off every other minute._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua slipped carefully through the shadows of the deserted parking garage. _Well, almost deserted. Sherlock's in here somewhere. _The tracking device told him that much. _He's probably not going to be happy to see me. _

Sherlock wasn't on the first floor, so he moved on. Halfway to the second floor he froze, hearing voices. _Someone else is here besides Sherlock. _The voices didn't seem to be coming closer, so he dropped to the floor and army crawled cautiously forward.

Sherlock was talking to somebody Joshua didn't recognize, and he couldn't hear what they were saying. Joshua hardly even saw them. His attention was riveted to a chair behind them, a chair with a man handcuffed to it.

_Lestrade! He's okay! But why . . . _and then he saw the red dot on Lestrade's chest. A laser._Wait, there's one on Sherlock too . . . but not on the guy he's talking to. So the odds are good that he's Moriarty._

_Think this through. _The file had mentioned snipers. That would explain the lasers. _Two lasers, there must be at least two snipers. _He looked around carefully. _The only place for them to be is that building over there. _

_Oh, they are going DOWN. _

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Lestrade hadn't been having the best of days. Not only was he being held prisoner by a mass murderer, but he also had a pounding headache from whatever drug they'd given him last night.

He was trying to concentrate on the conversation between Sherlock and Moriarty. The knowledge that any moment could bring instantaneous and painful death was quite distracting, but he needed to know what was going on.

"You expect me to find a letter that disappeared over four years ago."

"In eight hours."

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"The letter was sent from Columbia, arrived in a drug ring in London, and disappeared. You're on your own for the rest. And you know what happens to Daddy-o if you fail."

Lestrade involuntarily glanced down at the laser hovering on his chest. _Wait . . . it's gone!_ He heard a small pop, and something struck the floor near Sherlock and ricocheted down the building.

_What is going on?_

Sherlock jumped toward Moriarty, who dodged nimbly and ran towards Lestrade, pulling out a pistol as he ran. He threw himself behind the chair, shoving the barrel of the pistol against Lestrade's head.

_I am so dead. _He winced, waiting for Moriarty to pull the trigger and blow out his brains.

"Call off your ninja," Moriarty said calmly.

_Ninja? What ninja?_

"He doesn't take orders from me. I can't stop him from blowing your head off," Sherlock replied. "In fact, I might rather enjoy it."

_So there's a ninja in the other building holding the rifle that didn't fire who wants to kill Moriarty but can't because I'm in the way. Brilliant._

"You can go now. Eight hours, or Daddy gets it." Moriarty pulled out his phone and started typing. Sherlock had no choice but to walk away.

_Eight hours._

_I hope Sherlock knows what he's doing._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Come on, two more inches . . . _Joshua held the gun steady, aiming just to the right of Lestrade, where the man-who-might-be-Moriarty would have to appear. Sherlock had gone, which meant dude probably had either more men or a gun. _Bah._

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Joshua swung round quickly to cover the door. Sherlock burst in. Joshua heaved a sigh of relief. "I almost shot you right there."

Sherlock ignored him. "Let's go."

"When did it become 'we'?"

"You're here. Therefore we. Let's go."

_That proved easier than I had expected._

"What about Lestrade?"

"Moriarty's got a gun." Sherlock was already leaving. "We have eight hours."

_So it was Moriarty. I should've blown his conk off while I had the chance. _

_Well, I tried._

_Eight hours . . . that's roughly nine tonight._  
Joshua followed Sherlock, pulling out Mycroft's phone. _I wonder how many times he's called._

Seven missed calls. _Really? Only seven? Well, he probably picked up on the fact that I wasn't answering. _Something caught his eye. _A text. That I might answer. _He opened it.

**_I demand my phone back._**

**_MH_**

_What am I supposed to say to that?_ He thought a moment and then, grinning, typed a reply.

**_Thank you for subscribing to Random Cat Facts (RCF)_**

**_Our fact of the day is: Cats are not vegetarians. If you feed them only vegetables they will go bald and die._**

_I wish I could see his face when he reads that. _Joshua shoved the phone back in his pocket and ran to catch up with Sherlock.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

221B Baker Street was a nice enough flat. Sherlock was flat on his back on the couch with his eyes closed. Joshua looked around. _I thought he had a flatmate. Maybe he's out._

He glanced at Sherlock for a clue to what he was supposed to be doing. Nothing. Mycroft's phone buzzed. Incoming call. _He's starting that again?_ He rejected the call. Another came in instantly. He rolled his eyes and ignored it.

"So what exactly are we doing?"

"Shut up."

The phone buzzed again. A text this time.

**_Are you with Sherlock?_**

_Nice try. _

**_Ancient Romans worshipped a cat goddess named Rubadubdub. _**

**_Stop it._**

**_Cats are peaceful creatures, except when they're trying to claw out your eyes._**

**_STOP._**

**_It is suspected by scientists that cats are actually aliens from the planet MHKI-47._**

**_I am going to put you on a one-way space shuttle to the sun._**

_He can do that? Wow._

**_Cats show their love by leaving small dead things all over your house._**

No reply. _He's probably plotting my death._ Then the phone buzzed again.

**_Did anything significant happen in Columbia four years ago?_**

_What? _Joshua read the text again. _Oh. That's not from Mycroft. It's from . . . Sherlock?_

"Columbia?" He looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock sat up quickly. "What did you say?"

"I said why do you care about things going on in Columbia?"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, than leaped forward and snatched the phone. "How did you get this?" He wasn't even trying to conceal his delight.

"I swiped it from your brother when he tried to make me spy on you. Which I refused to do, by the way."

Sherlock wasn't listening. "Random Cat Facts?"

"It was the first thing I thought of."

"He'll be furious."

"Much I care."

Sherlock flopped back down onto the couch with the phone, apparently finished with the conversation. Joshua waited for a few minutes, then went over to the window to stand guard. _If Mycroft thinks we're together, this would be the logical first place to look._


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: My sister cracks me up. That is all.**

**Don't own**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"There he is."

"Who?"

"Your brother. Looking for me. If you need me, I'll be hiding in the kitchen."

"Take the phone."

"Right."

Joshua snatched the phone and ran into the kitchen. _He might search the place . . . under the sink, no, too obvious, I could jump out the window, he's probably got people watching, in the fridge, I'd be dead. So the only other place would be a cupboard, where he would probably look, or the garbage can._

_I hate hiding in garbage cans. At least it has a flip-up lid. _He checked the contents quickly. _Not much. Good._

He emptied the contents of the garbage bag into the lid and climbed into the can. _I'm going to have to dislocate my elbow. I hate that. _That was one part of ninja training that had been highly unenjoyable- popping out joints to allow you to fit into places normal people couldn't. He did it quickly. _Ow, and ow again. _

He scrunched down the rest of the way into the can, and let the lid close, depositing a pile of garbage on his head. _Nasty. _

Footsteps came up the stairs into the sitting room. Joshua strained to hear, and found to his delight that he could.

"Hello brother dear_…_" _Mycroft…_

"What do you want?" _And that's Sherlock. Welcoming as ever._

"Has he been here?" Mycroft didn't waste any time.

"Who?"

"You know who, he said he met you. Where is he?"

"The ninja. Typical. What, did you send him to spy on me?"

Mycroft ignored the question. "Are you aware that Lestrade's disappeared? Didn't show up for work today, no trace of him anywhere."

"What of it? He's just a policeman."

"Yes…and unfortunately also the only father figure you've ever really had."

"Oh please . . . I wouldn't quite go that far."

"Of course not . . . he only risked his job to keep you off drugs." Joshua could hear Sherlock huff in response.

"Not to mention making sure you ate, giving you a place to stay, hanging on to you during your detox…"

"Being there for me when you weren't."

"I was working."

"So was he."

"My work is more important."

"…what do you want, Mycroft?"

"I want to know what's going on. This is Moriarty again, isn't it."

"I don't think it's any of your business."

"Sherlock, that boy is dangerous. If he shows up here-"

"If he shows up here I shall do whatever I please. Good day, Mycroft."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

John paid the cabbie quickly and turned towards the door of 221B Baker Street. As he reached for the handle, the door opened and Mycroft stepped out. "John? I thought you were in Dublin."

"Yes. I was."

"You weren't due back for three more days."

"Sherlock asked me to come back."

"Really . . . why?"

"Wanted my help."

"With . . .?"

"He didn't tell you? I rather assumed that was why you're here."

"I was just . . . checking up. Keeping track of him. Although I'm actually having a harder time keeping track of his little friend."

"Friend?"

"It's hard to say . . . one minute they're working together, the next they're trying to kill each other. I expect you'll meet him soon enough. Do tell me where he was hiding. And try to keep an eye on them both." Mycroft handed John a card. "My mobile number. You might need it."

"I already have your number."

"This is a different one. My regular phone is . . . incapacitated."

Mycroft turned and walked off down the street. John stared after him.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"He thinks I'm working with Moriarty." Joshua stood up, snapping his elbow back into place with a jolt of pain.

"Are you?" Sherlock seemed less than concerned.

"Would I tell you if I was?"

"Maybe."

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Joshua squeaked and jumped under the table. _A most un-ninja like noise, squeaking. But then, ninjas do strange things when facing eminent death._

"Sherlock?" A man walked into the room quickly. "I just saw Mycroft-"

"So did I. It was distinctly annoying."

"What happened to your face?" The man stared at Sherlock.

"He happened to my face." Sherlock gestured towards Joshua under the table. "Fortunately, I believe we've passed that stage now."

Joshua wiggled out from under the table. It ought to be safe, or Sherlock wouldn't have drawn attention to him. "Hi."

"You're the guy Mycroft was talking about? The one who tried to kill Sherlock?"

"Well, maybe not kill, but certainly maim for life. I'm Joshua Kalman, first class ninja, and quite probably the bane of Mycroft's life at the moment."

"John Watson. You're a ninja? I thought those didn't really exist."

"Actually, ninjitsu is quite prevalent in Japan today. Ninjas are fairly common in the martial arts."

"Sorry to interrupt your utterly unfascinating conversation, but we're going to Scotland Yard now. And I need the phone back." Joshua handed it to him.

"Is that Mycroft's phone?" John was looking confused. "He left it here?"

"Actually, he was looking for it." Sherlock put on his coat and went out.

John looked at Joshua. "He stole Mycroft's phone?"

"No, I did. We'd better hurry or he'll leave us."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"We're looking through all the files in the drug division for four years ago." Sherlock walked rapidly down the hallway, with Joshua and John following close behind.

"Are you going to give us any more information?" John asked. "Because we can't really help if we don't know what we're doing."

"A letter with information directly tied to the theft of a top-secret British missile disappeared from a drug ring in London. We have to find it."

"How do we find it by reading old drug cases all night?" Joshua looked exasperated.

"My homeless network picked up that the underground world was buzzing with the news of an undercover cop making off with something valuable from the heart of a drug ring. That was around four years ago."

"So you think that was the letter." John shook his head. "Seems like a shot in the dark to me."

"Sherlock . . ." Joshua's voice was tense. "The date, is that 2009?"

"Yes."

"That's when . . . that's when my father . . ."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes, that would make sense! The letter never resurfaced because the policeman who stole it was killed. He must have hid it or Moriarty wouldn't be looking for it . . ." he turned and started searching through files.

"Okay, I'm still confused." John waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

"Sherlock, Lestrade had a file on my dad yesterday in his car. I didn't look at it too closely, but it might be what we're looking for."

"That's easy enough then," John said. "Where's Lestrade?"

Joshua stared at him, then looked at Sherlock. "You didn't tell him?" Sherlock was busy and did not respond. "Lestrade . . . Moriarty has him."

"There's nothing here." Sherlock straightened and strode quickly towards the door. "We're going to have to go to his house."

"Wait, Sherlock…" John recovered from his shock in time to grab the detective's arm as he brushed past. "Lestrade…you…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He'll be fine, I'm fine, now can we please get moving!"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Pumpkin frozen custard is amazing. Also, happy 27th wedding anniversary to our awesome parents! Being the most amazing progeny ever, we got them pumpkin custard. And ate some ourselves, of course. We're only human.**

**Don't own.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_It's five o'clock already? Four hours left . . . _Joshua searched through the living room of Lestrade's house. John was looking in the bedroom, while Sherlock picked the lock on the car. _It has to be here somewhere._

"I've got nothing." John walked into the living room. "Anything here?"

"Not yet . . . how's Sherlock doing?"

"Don't know. Is this it?" John picked up a file from the couch.

"No. That's on Sherlock. I'm going to go see if he's found anything."

John followed Joshua outside. Sherlock was sitting in the passenger seat reading through a file.

"Is that it?" Joshua asked. Sherlock did not reply. _I'll take that as a yes._ _He could've told us he found it._

"This is definitely it. Let's go." Sherlock put down the file and walked towards the road.

"Where now?" Joshua picked up the file, looking through it carefully. "Can you at least tell us what you found in here?"

"He doesn't work that way," John said. "He'll just take off and we have to follow."

"I think I may be sliding back into want-to-punch-him-in-the-face-really-hard mode."

"So that's what happened to his face."

"In a nutshell."

They started after Sherlock, who had already flagged down a cab. They climbed in and Sherlock gave the driver an address. _That's down by the docks. I think._

"Can you tell us what's up on the way?" Joshua asked. "Nothing else to do."

"You're going to break into the inner office of a highly dangerous drug lord and report to me on your findings."

"And just how am I going to do that?"

"You're the ninja."

"You've got to be kidding me. Why?"

"This is the place Richard Fox was assigned. If he hid the letter, he might have left a clue somewhere. Read the file."

"Can't we ask Mycroft to help?" John interjected. "He'd be able to stage a huge raid on the place."

"No." Sherlock was adamant.

Joshua picked up the file and started looking through. John read over his shoulder.

**_Richard Fox . . . infiltrated drug ring, acting as courier . . . _**_it would be easy to take the letter if he was a courier. We might be on the right track after all. _

The file also had a log of texts between Richard Fox and Scotland Yard. Joshua scanned them quickly. _Boring, boring, dull, unimportant . . . _and then he came to the last three.

**_My case is bigger on the inside._**

_That's to be expected if he found out about the missile._

**_Booked my flight._**

_Odd terminology . . . I'd assume he's on the run with the letter._

And, lastly: **_Time's up. What's the time?_**

_Okay, that makes little to no sense. His time is up. So they're about to catch him. But why say, What's the time? He ought to know. _

"What's with the last one?" He looked up at Sherlock. "It's rather strange."

"It was his last text, his last message to Scotland Yard. It has to be important, perhaps even vital. A man doesn't waste his last moments."

"How could that possibly be vital?" John was looking as confused as Joshua.

"I have no idea," Sherlock muttered.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"I still think you're nuts." Joshua slumped against the back of the restaurant booth. "There is no way that this will ever work. Al least, not in the time we have left."

"Shut up. I'm concentrating." Sherlock was drawing quickly on a napkin. "Okay, here's the basic layout-"

"How in the world do you know the layout of a giant drug ring's headquarters?" Joshua stared at him.

Sherlock glared at him. John looked away.

". . . bad question?"

"The entrance is through this restaurant here." Sherlock jabbed his finger at a smudge on the napkin.

Joshua squinted at the improvised map. "So then I go through this blob of ketchup, up a level-"

"Down a level."

"Sorry, hard to tell."

"And then down two more levels, turn right onto this hallway, left at the second intersection, and it's the first door on the right. The guards-"

"You neglected to mention that there were guards."

"Don't be stupid, of course there are guards."

"I was more concerned about the fact that any guard standing at the foot of those stairs will invariably catch me."

"Lucky for you, there isn't a guard at the bottom of those stairs."

"Oh."

"There's a few after the drug storerooms. That should be all, unless you meet security. They make rounds every so often."

"Great. So if I do make it past the bouncers, guards, and security, then what? I just waltz into a drug lord's office and say 'Hi, I'm looking for a letter with top secret information in it'?"

"At that point-"

"Presuming I'm alive."

"At that point," Sherlock repeated, glaring at Joshua, "I will text you further instructions."

"Um, no. You tell me everything I'm doing before I set foot through the door."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. Under the desk, there's a secret compartment that unlatches when you pull out the top drawer of the desk. There should be something useful in there."

"What do I do if the drug lord's in his office?"

"Wait for him to leave. You're the ninja. Work through it."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_How did I ever let him talk me into doing this?_ Joshua slunk along a dark hallway. There were rooms off to the side. He carefully opened a door and glanced inside, then stepped back quickly, surprised at the amount of people in the room. The occupants took no notice of him. They couldn't, really. Slumped against the wall or sprawled across the floor, the druggies were completely in another world.

_It's pretty sad, really. The human body and mind, capable of so much, completely useless._ His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his phone.

**_Are you there yet?_**

_Seriously? I've been in here all of five minutes!_

**_Of course not. I'll text you. _**

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and went on. _This place is huge. _He passed by other rooms packed with the sleeping addicts, by some that appeared to be storage rooms, then by still more where incapacitated humans lay scattered about like rags, unaware of their surroundings.

_I haven't even seen anyone who isn't drugged yet . . . odd. Sherlock said there'd be guards. _Then he heard rapidly approaching footsteps. Quickly he dodged inside a room and dropped to the floor, sprawling among the motionless bodies around him. He let his eyes stop focusing, his mouth fall open, and breathed slowly, just one more still form. The footsteps came closer, and then passed by.

_At least it's easy to hide here. _He got up quickly and continued on his way.

_Down a level . . . _

The rooms of druggies were fewer now. It was more like a small, underground office building, with neat corridors and offices branching off. He peeked into an empty one. Plainly furnished, a desk and a chair.

_Down another level . . . and one more. _He walked softly down the last staircase.

Joshua closed his eyes, mentally picturing the scrawled napkin. _Right, then left. _He hurried down the deserted hallways. _This whole place is awfully quiet. I've only met one guard. Weird._

_And first door on the right. _He leaned against the wall, listening intently. All was quiet. _All right, I'm just going to have to go for it. _Slowly, softly, he turned the knob. He tensed for a moment, then flung the door open, did a forward flip through it, and crashed into a revolving bookcase.

_Ow. _

He rolled quickly to a fighting stance. _No one here . . . good. _He stood up gingerly. _What kind of moron puts a bookcase there?_ _It's highly embarrassing to somersault into a bookcase while trying to make a dramatic entrance. Not to mention painful._

_Whoa. This place is palatial. _Thick carpet, fancy wallpaper, an armchair fit for a king next to an antique end table, bookcase _everywhere, _and…oh yes, the desk, tucked in between the bookcases like an afterthought.

He sent a quick text: **_I'm in._** Putting the phone away, he went over to the desk.

_So I'm supposed to open the top drawer? _He tugged at the handle. Locked. _Naturally. _He picked it quickly, pulled the drawer open, and slid under the desk, looking for the secret compartment.

Nothing. He frowned and texted again. **_I can't find the compartment._**

The reply came quickly. **_That's because it doesn't exist._**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Ooooh, you jerk. Seriously, I did not see that coming. The ninja claims that's ridiculous, of course he'd pull a stunt like that, but, well...also, I actually wrote a lot of the last section. Slightly proud of myself. Excuse me while I reread it to revel in my genius.**


	12. Chapter 12

**From last time...**

...**_I can't find the compartment._**

The reply came quickly. **_That's because it doesn't exist._**

**XX**

_What? _Joshua stared at the text. _He just invented that to get me in here? I'm so going to kill him._

**_If that doesn't exist, what am I supposed to be looking for, you jerk?_**

**_What's in there?_**

Joshua looked around. Bookcases, definitely. They lined the walls, stretched to the ceiling, and free-standing revolving ones lurked about the room and stood evilly in front of the door to attack poor, unsuspecting ninjas.

**_Desk, chair, table, and ten million books._**

_Wait a second…books? _The phone chimed, but Joshua ignored it. _Booked myself a flight…maybe…oh no._ Joshua looked around with no small amount of horror.

"He hid it in a book." Somehow, saying it out loud didn't make it sound any better. Two and a half hours left…he didn't want to say "doomed," but . . . _no, think._ _What about the final text? A book to do with time?_ The mobile chimed again. He ignored it and started looking. Ten minutes later, books on time travel, time zones, and even multiplication had yielded nothing. Joshua spared a glance at the phone.

**_No clock? _**Actually…there was one. Joshua practically dashed to the shelf where the ornate timepiece resided, but a quickly perusal of the surrounding volumes yielded no result.

**_No luck._**

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

_Someone's coming._

Joshua dove under the desk as the door to the office opened. _I've been hiding under desks a lot lately._ He carefully turned off his phone. An incoming text might give him away.

He listened intently. There were at least three men in the room, maybe more. One was coming towards the desk. Joshua scrunched up into as tiny a ball as he could. The man sat down in the desk chair, propping his feet up on top of the desk. Moving his head slightly, Joshua managed to glimpse the man's face. He breathed in sharply. Instead of the drug lord he'd expected, the man was none other than Jim Moriarty.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

John was definitely getting worried. They were waiting on a bench outside another restaurant a few blocks away. It was about seven, just past dusk. An hour of what little time they had left was gone, with nothing to show for it. He stared at Sherlock's phone, willing it to receive an incoming text with the news that Joshua had found the letter. It didn't happen. He sighed. "We're running out of time. We have barely two hours."

"I know. What's taking him so long?" Sherlock was getting antsy.

"He did say he had an idea."

"He's ignoring my texts." Sherlock tapped out another message.

John swallowed. "Sherlock, I know you don't want to, but I think we're going to have to get Mycroft involved."

"No."

"It's a life or death situation. We don't have enough time. He could help."

"We still have time left."

"No, we don't. If we wait much longer, even Mycroft won't be able to do anything."

"I said no!" Sherlock jumped up and stalked off around the corner.

John stood up and walked after him. _Why does he have to be so difficult sometimes?_

He rounded the corner and stopped. Sherlock had disappeared.

"Sherlock?"

No answer.

"Sherlock!" John started running down the street, looking for his vanished friend. It was no use. Sherlock was gone.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_This is nerve-wracking . . . _Joshua lay as still as possible. If Moriarty looked down, he would spot him easily. _If only there was more room back here . . . _he glanced behind him. There was a partition that came down almost to the floor. He cautiously reached under it, feeling upwards.

_There's room, if I can make it under . . . and then I'd be virtually invisible. _He inched towards it, moving as slowly as he could. He was about halfway under when the door to the room opened once again. Jim Moriarty lazily pushed off the desk with his feet and spun the chair around.

"About time you joined the party." He spun around again and Joshua felt a sinking in his stomach. _He wouldn't…no one would be that brainless, not even-_

"You knew." _Sherlock. On second thought, only Sherlock would be that brainless. _Using the time that the crime lord spent facing away from him while spinning, Joshua slipped under the partition as his mind tried to process the conversation.

"Of course I knew, I'm a spider, remember? Spinning webs." Moriarty spun one last time before jumping to his feet.

_If only I could _see_what's going on…_Joshua carefully maneuvered around the painfully small area. _Maybe there's a crack between the drawer and the side of the desk…_ There was, but it didn't help him much, as there appeared to be something stuck in it. _A book-sized something._ Trying and failing to vanquish his rising hopes, Joshua worked the volume loose.

The gold lettering showed up plainly against the red binding: **_The Tempest. _**By William Shakespeare.

_You have got to be kidding me. Is there anywhere that guy doesn't show up? _Then it finally hit him. Time; the quote on the watch; the quote by William Shakespeare; "booked myself a flight;" now the book… Joshua opened the book. The letter slid out. _Well then._ Not seeing any reason not open it, he did so.

_A map . . . _He quickly identified the area as Columbia.

_So this is a map to the missile? Why would he need a map? Doesn't he already know where it is?_

_Well, I don't care why he wants it. I found it, and within our time limit too. _

Joshua attention was abruptly arrested by the crime-lord's suddenly shouted words, "…FAILED HIM AGAIN!" were followed by a sudden scuffle and a pained noise from Sherlock. _Does he have to keep screaming in the middle of sentences?_ Joshua quickly scrambled to peer through the now empty space the desk. Moriarty was very much in Sherlock's face, and the goon behind him had the detective's arm pulled up behind his back in a position that couldn't possibly be comfortable, but…

It didn't take a detective to deduce that the pain on his face wasn't the result of manhandling.

"I _haven't_ failed him," he bit out, then hesitated. "I…know where the letter is."

"Show me." Moriarty sounded suspicious. _Can't say that I blame him . . . does Sherlock actually know or is he going to do something stupid that will get us all killed?_

"Have you seen the Scotland Yard files on this case? The texts?" Moriarty rolled his eyes.

"Yes, AND?"

"The last one. What is the time. He's referring to .the clock." All eyes turned to the timepiece, save Joshua's, as the desk obnoxiously blocked his view.

Moriarty retrieved the device and examined it skeptically before offering it to the detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Turn the hands to midnight, then four, then midnight again. That disarms the explosives inside. Then you can just unscrew the back."

_Does he actually think that's it? We're doomed . . ._

"There's nothing in here."

"What?" Sherlock sounded genuinely shocked. "Let me see." His attempt to snatch the clock was painfully discouraged by the thug. He grimaced and continued, "That's impossible. I couldn't have been wrong . . . oh. Oh!"

"What now?"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock growled. "He got here ahead of me. I told him not to interfere!" Joshua couldn't see Sherlock's face, but he sounded mad enough to spit tacks.

_He's a crazy good actor. Unless this isn't really what we're looking for. _He glanced at the map again. _It looks real enough._

"Oh, so your big brother doesn't care enough about that policeman to allow me to gain a missile that would give me massive power and money? Not surprising." Joshua could hear Moriarty walking towards the door. "Let's see if he cares more about you."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**This was much too exciting to say anything about. And I wrote a lot of it. Making me ridiculously conceited. Have a nice day.**


	13. Chapter 13

**As we admittedly left you hanging for a week, here's an extra long chapter for you.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua skulked down the darkened street, hugging the wall to blend into the shadows. A lone street light didn't really do much to illuminate the place. _Not that I mind. It does make it a little more difficult to avoid crashing into lurking dumpsters. Almost as bad as bookcases, those dumpsters._

Moriarty and Sherlock were just ahead. Moriarty was keeping up a stream of obnoxious chatter. Sherlock was trying to ignore him and failing miserably.

_What am I supposed to do now? I'm not the genius here. I just do fancy backflips._

_So perhaps I'll flip around until I crash into something and it knocks an idea into my head. _

_That didn't work so well before. _

They were approaching a larger road. A car pulled up to the curb. Sherlock, Moriarty, and his men got in.

Joshua crept forward carefully, staying out of sight of the vehicle's occupants. As the car pulled away, he ran behind it. He followed it for a few blocks, but he was getting tired and attracting the curious attention of other drivers. The car stopped for a traffic light, and Joshua slid under it, grabbing the bumper with his hands and propping his feet against the machinery under the car. He was now hanging underneath it.

_As long as I can hold on, I should be good. _The car started moving again. Joshua's fingers were cramping and the wind made it hard to breathe. To make matters worse, the exhaust pouring out of the muffler near his head was making him feel dizzy. He shook his head, trying to clear it. It didn't help.

He pulled himself as far away from the muffler as he could, keeping his face turned away from it. The car stopped at another light, and he relaxed against the ground, releasing some of the strain on his arms.

_I feel like I'm going to puke. How much carbon monoxide can a human inhale before dying?_

_That's a cheery thought. _

The light changed and he hoisted himself back up quickly. _I almost wish I was in there with them._

_Almost._

_I have no idea where we're going . . . I don't know how much longer I can . . . I can . . . _His head was spinning.

_Need to . . . stop . . . exhaust . . ._

Joshua's fingers loosened and he felt himself hit the ground. _No . . . no, I need to . . . to follow . . ._

He pulled himself up with superhuman effort, staggering to the side of the road, where he crumpled to the ground again. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he threw up repeatedly, his body trying to flush out the poison. At length he started to feel like death was not yet eminent.

_I lost them. _The sense of failure was worse than the nausea, and fresh air didn't help it at all.

_I'm lucky there weren't any other cars around. Then I'd have to convert from the leaping ninja to the squished ninja._

_If I have to die, I'd rather not do it by puking my internal organs out on a sidewalk in London or being run over by a car._

_I think a nice, warm fireball would work. Maybe a plane crash._

_Man, I'm morbid today._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joshua stared at the bottom of his coffee cup. He was sitting at a small café. _Last café I was in, I almost died. _

_Most places I've been recently, I've almost died. I'd better not make a habit out of it._

_I don't know what to do now. _

_Sherlock would know what to do. _

Mycroft's phone buzzed in his pocket.

**_Where's Sherlock?_**

_I wish I knew. _Joshua started to put the phone away, but stopped in sudden remembrance. _I do know! There's still the tracking device!_

He grabbed the phone and clicked the tracking app.

**_Please wait . . ._**

_Please work . . ._

And there it was. Joshua threw a bill on the table and sprinted out of the café.

"Taxi!" A taxi swerved to a stop beside the curb.

_I'd better not go directly there . . . _"Harmann Street. And double if you get there fast!"

_Hang on, guys. I'm coming for you._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Odd section of town for them to be . . . _Joshua looked around. Buildings, mainly apartments, lined the street. They were old and dilapidated. There were no people about.

_Well, it is night. Normal people are in bed. Not saving the world. _

_Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration. _

_Saving three-quarters of the world. _He grinned, then instantly felt bad for enjoying himself when the only people he knew in the world were quite possibly dead.

_Well, not all the people I know. Mycroft's probably as well as ever. Unfortunately. _

_Wait. What about John? I forgot him completely. He's probably flipping out. _Joshua pulled out his phone, then stopped. _I don't know his number. Too bad. I could use some backup._

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and pulled out Mycroft's. _So Sherlock is roughly two blocks away . . . I hope Moriarty's not still with him. _

Joshua set off, using every ounce of skill he possessed to remain completely unnoticeable. _Moriarty's probably got guys watching for me . . . knows I might show up. _He slowed down as he approached his target destination.

_Three story apartment building. Looks unguarded. _

_Probably a trap. _He flattened himself against a wall and examined the building closely. _No lights. Looks abandoned. _

_Except . . . _he caught a glimpse of something at a window. _Not a movement . . . not really much of anything. But something's there._

He remained frozen against the wall, his eyes fixed on the shadows inside the window. Ninjas were masters of shadows. But knowing the darkness was more than being able to hide or move unseen. Joshua could see the dark, really see it. The shades of darkness, the way it melted into itself. And that shadow was just a bit too dark.

_Exactly the way it would be if there was someone hiding in it . . . _he squinted, probing the shadow with his eyes. _A man. Definitely. _He could barely make out the silhouette.

_If there's one, there'll be more . . . _scanning the building carefully, he spotted three more motionless men, all armed. Two on the ground level, one each on the second and third.

_It appears he's overlooked my very favorite method of breaking and entering . . . over the rooftops. _Joshua moved slowly back down the street. _I'm probably out of sight . . . _he slipped on his _shuko _and started up the nearest building. The climbing claws bit easily into the wood and he made quick progress.

Reaching the roof, he pulled himself up. _That was an easy climb. Now for the hard part . . . _the apartment he was aiming for was three buildings down. He leapt quickly, pausing on the rooftops between jumps to make sure the coast was still clear.

_Last jump . . . _Joshua started forward, but stopped instantly as a flash of movement on the roof of the building caught his attention. _There __is__somebody there . . . I couldn't see him from the ground. _

_This suddenly got much more difficult._ The man was looking away from Joshua, watching the street below. _He might not see me jump . . . _

_I'll have to try. There's no other way. _Joshua crept carefully to the edge of the roof and jumped across in a great bound, landing noiselessly on the other side. The man didn't move.

_Obstacle averted. _He moved away from the man, searching for a way into the building. None was readily apparent.

_I'll have to climb down the side. _Joshua swung himself over the edge and started down. _Now if only I can find an unlocked window . . . _he climbed alongside the first window and tried to lift it. _Locked. The next one has a guard. _He climbed underneath it, out of view of the sentinel.

_Down to the second story, then._

The third window was also locked, but the glass was cracked. Joshua carefully pulled the pieces out of the frame and wiggled through, then nearly had a heart attack. The room wasn't empty.

Two figures lay on the floor. They did not move, and Joshua relaxed. _That was very close. _He moved towards them cautiously. A boy and a girl, ten or eleven years old. They were asleep, huddled together for warmth.

_They must live here. Strange that Moriarty would hide out in an occupied building . . . _Joshua was turning towards the door when a flash of metal caught his attention. He turned back, frowning, and bent over the children.

_Handcuffs . . . they're prisoners here too. _Then a horrible thought struck him.

_Maybe they're not sleeping . . ._

He put his hand in front of the girl's mouth, careful not to touch her. _She's breathing. Good. So is the boy. _

_Now what? I can't leave kids in this place, but I sure can't take them with me. _

_I'll have to come back . . . if I survive. _Joshua turned and went to the door. _Locked. _

_Of course it's locked. It's basically a cell. _He picked the lock quickly and slipped out. It was pitch black in the hallway.

The darkness was intense. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but they didn't. A shiver ran down his back.

_What's the matter with me? Ninjas like darkness._

_Darkness, yes. Icy black hallways of doom, not so much._

_Now I'm just being dramatic. _He forced himself to start moving, running his hand along the wall to feel for doors.

_Do. Not. Think. About. Spiders. _

_Ninjas do __not__like spiders._

_Moriarty said he was a spider. Strangely appropriate. _His hand found a door. _I think this leads to a room with a guard in it . . . but I'm not sure. _

The handle turned noiselessly and he opened the door a crack. _Yes. There is a guard. _He scanned the room quickly. _No Lestrade, no Sherlock. Moving on._

He closed the door and continued down the hallway.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Maybe they're not here at all . . ._

After searching all of the second story and most of the ground level, Joshua was getting a bit discouraged. All he'd found were guards.

_Well, there's still the third story . . ._

Joshua checked the last room on the first floor. Nothing.

_Looks like I'm heading up then. _

He mounted the stairs quickly yet cautiously, treading lightly to keep the old boards from creaking. Reaching the third floor, he slipped down the hallway and reached for the first door. As he touched the knob, he heard voices from inside the room. Freezing, he focused on the voices, trying to identify them.

_Moriarty . . . and Sherlock. _He waited for a moment. _No Lestrade._

_I can't do anything for Sherlock with Moriarty there, so I guess I'll keep looking for Lestrade. _Joshua moved to the next door.

It was locked. His heart leapt, and he started picking the lock quickly. _Since it was locked, there's a good chance there's something or someone important inside . . ._

The lock clicked, and he opened the door softly. The room had no window, and he couldn't see a thing.

_I really need to start carrying a flashlight . . . there's a backlight on my phone. That might work. _

Joshua reached for his phone, then stopped, frowning. _If Lestrade was here, wouldn't he have said something by now? Or at least made some noise?_ He listened intently. _Maybe he's asleep. Or drugged. _

Joshua advanced slowly, feeling the way with his feet. _Nothing . . . _he made a second sweep, turning up empty again.

_Oh yeah. I was going to use my phone. _He pulled the phone out and activated it. The sudden burst of light blinded him momentarily. Blinking, he waited for his eyes to adjust.

Hearing a soft noise at the doorway, he flashed the light towards it in time to catch a glimpse of a man slipping away.

_Lestrade! _Joshua started to call out, then remembered there was a supervillain in the next room and decided against it.

_He managed to sneak by me. Nice ninja work. _He hurried out into the hallway, turning his phone back off to be less noticeable._Probably thinks I'm one of Moriarty's dudes here to kill him. The evil assassin in the dead of night or something. _

_If he runs into a guard, Moriarty will figure out I'm here. And then we're sunk._

Joshua looked around. Since it was pitch black, the look didn't accomplish much. _Where would he go? _

_Probably the first floor. The one with the most guards. Brilliant._

_Hey, that's a British term. I'm turning British. _

_Brilliant._

He ran for the stairs. _I'll have to try to intercept him. He'll be caught in a heartbeat. _

"Lestrade?" His whisper seemed awfully loud in the quiet building. "Lestrade, it's me. Joshua." No reply.

_He must have gone down already._

Joshua took the stairs two at a time, bounding downwards. He paused at the second floor to listen. A faint sound came from below. _Someone downstairs . . . coming up? Why would Lestrade . . ._

_Unless that's not him. _

He bolted away from the stairs, ducking into the closest room. He pressed himself against the wall, breathing hard. Listening carefully, he heard the footsteps continue up the stairs without pausing.

_Whew._

_I hope he's not going to check on Lestrade. _

Joshua waited a few moments to make sure the guard wasn't coming back. All seemed clear. As he reached for the doorknob, a floorboard creaked behind him. He started to spin around, but an arm tightened around his neck and a hand was clamped over his mouth and nose.

Joshua reacted instantly with a vicious backward kick, but his assailant dodged it nimbly, increasing the pressure on his throat. Joshua felt the world starting to spin.

Twisting desperately, he tried to throw his attacker over his shoulder. The man's grip loosened as he stepped back to avoid the throw. Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary instability, Joshua jammed his elbow into the man's stomach.

The man fell back with the wind knocked out of him, and Joshua sprang free. He slumped against the wall, his mind still spinning from lack of oxygen. He could feel the blood circulating through his neck again, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

He had a pretty good idea who his attacker was.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Any guesses?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Terribly sorry this chapter took so long.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Lestrade," he panted, "you're worse than a bookcase. I didn't want to hit you, but you were kind of strangling me. Are you okay?"

No response.

"I'll take that as a no." Joshua pulled out his phone, which cast an eerie blue glow over the room, and quickly located Lestrade, who was lying motionless on the floor.

_Wow. He's out. I didn't think I hit him that hard. _He knelt beside the prostrate man, checking his pulse and breathing. Lestrade mumbled something unintelligible and feebly tried to push Joshua away.

"Lestrade, it's me. Joshua." _Keep talking. Calm him down. He's had a rough day. _"You're fine now. Everyone's fine. We'll be out of here in no time. No danger at all."

Lestrade muttered again, and Joshua leaned over him. "Didn't catch that."

"You're a . . . bloody bad . . . liar."

"Well, yes, but only about the danger part . . . and the whole everything's fine thing."

Lestrade opened his eyes and tried to sit up. "Oh, is that all?"

"Well . . . maybe not . . ."

"Brilliant. Where's Sherlock?"

". . . and there's where one of those maybe nots comes in . . ."

Lestrade started to speak, but Joshua hushed hm. "Listen."

They could hear vague shouting from above them. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Joshua turned back to Lestrade. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Well . . ."

"Looks like we're hiding then." Joshua flashed the phone around the room. "There's a closet. Might work." He pulled Lestrade to his feet and started towards it.

Lestrade refused to budge. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's upstairs, hurry!" Footsteps were approaching quickly down the hallway. Lestrade stopped resisting, and Joshua half carried him into the closet, pulling the door shut behind them.

"They'll find him. Is he hiding?" Lestrade's voice betrayed his anxiety.

"They found him an hour ago. He's having a pleasant conversation with the king of crime. Can you climb?"

"Climb what?"

"The building. If you can't we'll have to try to sneak to the ground level. And that would not end well."

"We're leaving without Sherlock."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lestrade-"

"No."

"I'll come back for him, I promise. Right now I need to get you out."

Lestrade was stubborn. "Get him out first."

"That doesn't make sense. They're looking for us. We need to get out now."

"I'm not leaving without Sherlock."

Joshua punched the wall of the closet. "It's impossible!"

"Quiet."

"Sorry." They listened for a moment. No one came.

Joshua sighed. "You're really not going to leave without him . . . fine." He pulled his knife off his belt and handed it to Lestrade.

"What's this for?"

"If somebody tries to kill you while I'm gone."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you aren't." Joshua sat down on the closet floor, his head between his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm thinking."

_There's only one chance. _He felt in his pocket. The letter was still there. He took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm going now. If neither of us comes for you after half an hour, you'll have to try to get out on your own."

"I'm coming with you."

"You are not coming with me!" Joshua opened the closet door and stepped out. "Stay in the closet."

". . . Okay."

"You're not going to stay in the closet."

"Well . . ."

"Fine. Plan B." Joshua shoved the door closed and looked for a way to lock it. There was a hook and eye latch by the knob. He fastened it.

"Did you just lock the door?" Lestrade's voice was slightly muffled from inside the closet.

"Yes. Do not try to get out. Do not try to follow me. Do not draw attention to yourself in any way."

"Let me out."

"No. If this works, Sherlock will come for you." Joshua walked away, ignoring Lestrade's protests. He opened the door and slipped into the hall. The sudden light blinded him momentarily.

_They turned on the lights. That is bad._

_Speed is essential. _He ran lightly down the hallway, feeling exposed under the lights. _I need to find a guard before more than one finds me. _

Someone was coming. Joshua ducked into a room, watching as two guards hurried by. _They'll probably start searching the rooms soon . . . I really need to hurry. _

_Maybe I could take on two . . . no, too risky. _He left the room and headed down the stairs. Reaching the ground level, he entered a room where a guard had been stationed.

_Empty now__. . . they're probably all looking for me and Lestrade. _

More footsteps approached. Joshua tensed for action. A lone guard walked quickly by.

_Perfect . . . _Joshua slipped out of the room and followed the man down the hallway. "Hey."

The guard spun around and Joshua's fist crashed squarely against his jaw. The man dropped like a stone.

_Ow. _Joshua shook his hand, dragged the guard into a room and started rummaging through his pockets. _Flashlight, wallet, pen . . . aha! _He pulled out a cigarette lighter, testing it to see if it worked. The flame burned steadily.

_Phase one completed . . . phase two is go._

Joshua shoved the guard into the room's closet and fastened the latch. It wouldn't hold him long once he regained consciousness, but it would work for now.

Pocketing the lighter, he reentered the hallway and started up the stairs. He saw two more groups of guards in the way to the third floor, but managed to hide without being spotted. Reaching the third floor, he entered the room where Moriarty had kept Lestrade.

Joshua leaned against the wall, listening to the conversation in the next room. _Still just Moriarty and Sherlock . . . unless there's a guard who's just being really quiet._

_Guess I'll have to take the chance._ He took a deep breath and went back into the hallway, pulling out the letter and lighter as he went.

_Here goes nothing . . . _

He threw open the door to the next room and walked in. "Hey, Sherlock. Hey, Jimmy,"

Moriarty hid his surprise well. Sherlock, who was handcuffed, stared at Joshua as if he'd lost his mind. _Which is quite possible. _

"I found your letter." Joshua held it up for the crook to see. "Wasn't hard. You could have done it."

"Thoughtful of you to deliver it yourself." Moriarty walked towards him, holding out his hand.

"Not so fast." Joshua stuck the letter behind his back. "You let Sherlock and Lestrade go, and then I'll give you this."

Moriarty sighed. "You're hardly in a position to barter. Give it to me, and maybe I won't have my guards pound you full of bullets."

Joshua whipped out the lighter, holding the flame close to the corner of the letter. "Let them go now. Or else."

The crime lord smiled. "If you burn that letter, I'll kill you and your friends."

"But the letter will still be gone."

Joshua and Moriarty stared at each other for a long moment. Then Moriarty turned and walked over to Sherlock, pulling the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket. Joshua went limp with relief.

_I never actually thought he'd-_

His thoughts were interrupted as somebody tackled him from behind, sending him sprawling. The lighter smashed against the floor, exploding in a mini-fireball. Joshua yelped and quickly smothered the flames that were spreading up his shirtsleeve.

_The letter!_ He looked frantically for it, but it was too late. Some of the lighter fluid had splashed onto it, and it was reduced to ashes. The flames were beginning to spread across the carpet.

Joshua pulled away from the man who had tackled him, ripping off his slightly singed shirt to beat out the flames. Sherlock sprang forward to help. _About time he did something useful. Wait . . . where's he going?_

Joshua turned to see Sherlock bending over the man who had tackled him. His mouth fell open.

_Lestrade! What in the world? _

He turned back to the flames, beating out the last of them quickly. Pulling his smoking shirt back on, he ran over to Lestrade and Sherlock.

"He's shot." Sherlock's voice was tight. "You idiot. You should've gotten him out."

"He tried." Lestrade sat up, wincing. Blood was soaking through his left trouser leg. "Where'd Moriarty go?"

Joshua looked around, noticing for the first time that the master criminal was no longer in the room.

"He had no reason to stay. The letter's gone." Sherlock was winding his scarf around Lestrade's leg as a makeshift tourniquet.

"He said he'd kill us if I burned it. Revenge seems like a pretty good reason." Joshua looked around worriedly.

"I suspect the revenge is still coming." Sherlock tied the scarf tightly and stood up. "That was a stupid idea."

"You're welcome." Joshua glared at him. "It would've worked if he hadn't tackled me."

"You'd have been dead if he hadn't tackled you."

"What?" Joshua stared at him.

"There was a sniper. Idiot. He pushed you out of the way."

"You did?" Joshua turned his attention to Lestrade.

"Well, yes."

"Don't start being sentimental. We need to get out of here. His leg needs treatment." Sherlock turned to the door. Before he could take a step, a deep rumble shook the building.

"Do I want to know what that was?" Joshua looked around.

Sherlock dashed over to the window and peered out. His face tightened.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. "What is it?"

"Firebomb." Sherlock turned back.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


End file.
